


Pray For Us Sinners

by nazgularepeopletoo



Category: Il nome della rosa | The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose (2019)
Genre: Blasphemy, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Pre-Canon, hierophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazgularepeopletoo/pseuds/nazgularepeopletoo
Summary: The Abbot is troubled, in more ways then one.





	Pray For Us Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> That scene five minutes into episode two, huh?

                The night was dark outside, the tall windows shut tightly against the second blizzard of the month. The Alps were not very hospitable in winter, but the abbey flourished nevertheless. Tonight was particularly bad, however, the winds battering against the stone walls with ferocious intent. No one dared to venture outside, which saw most of the abbey’s inhabitants holed up in their respective rooms.

                The Abbot was one of them, heavy door bolted and curtains drawn but no fire burning. Few candles were lit to fend off the darkness that permeated, but he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Too much had been told to him in confession lately and he didn’t know what to do. Heresy had entered the abbey; his worst fears come to life in front of his nose and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not only was he bound by the laws of confession, but were he to raise the alarm, his own actions may come under scrutiny.

                Nothing he did was heresy, or, to his knowledge it wasn’t prohibited by the church explicitly, though if he was found out, nothing good would come of it. Shaking his head clear of worries, he slipped out of bed. The floor was freezing beneath his bare feet, but he didn’t notice. He moved quietly to the center of the room, where the statue of Mother Mary stood, watching over him as he slept. He knelt in front of her, pressing his forehead to the smooth wood. The cold would seep through his trousers to his knees soon enough, but that didn’t matter, he still wouldn’t notice.

                “Ave Maria regina…. I do not know what to do.” Tilting his head, he sighed as his skin moved against the cool surface. Without realizing it, he shifted his weight, bringing himself closer to the statue, pressing further against it. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the wood and paint and raised on hand above his head to take hers, letting his other drop down to his side. “Please… help me... “

                The statue didn’t move, it never did no matter how much he silently begged it to, but he ended up flush against it anyway. He bit his lip, holding back a sob and gripped her hand tighter, digging his fingernails into the wood. This always happened, more often then he would like to admit. He would kneel, he would pray, he would inhale the scent and feel the wood against his skin. Every time without fail heat crept inside him, making its way down to his lower stomach.

With a stifled sob he gently banged his head against the statue before drawing his still free hand in through the sleeve of his nightclothes, struggling only momentarily with the fabric. Sliding his hand down again, he wasted no time in touching himself, running his fingers down his length with a stuttering sigh. He kissed the statue in front of him, letting his lips linger on the wood as he wrapped his hand around himself and started stroking.

His breathing stuttered as he moved, gripping the statue tighter and nearly splintering the delicate fingers of her hand. It never took very long, no matter what he did to try and prolong the inevitable. He was close when a crash startled him out of his near reverie. He jumped, eyes flying open though he didn’t remember closing them. Pushing away from the statue just enough, he stood, fighting the fabric of his nightclothes once again to release his hand.

The abbey was silent. A false alarm, then. Probably wind banging a poorly secured shutter or door. With a whine that he would never admit to, he wrapped his arms around himself. It was ruined, he wouldn’t be able to finish tonight. He gave one last longing look at the statue, padding back over to it and, after a short hesitation, pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

He hadn’t realised how chilled he’d been when he finally made it back under the thick blankets. He shivered a little, doing his best to ignore the lingering arousal that refused to dissipate. Biting his lip, he squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel her eyes on him. It bored into him until he turned his back to her, drawing the blankets over his head.

When he did fall asleep, it was fitful, full of dark dreams but tinged with the promise of tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote part of this in the break room at work.


End file.
